


The Queen's Throne

by cathrheas



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Femdom, Hand Jobs, Human Furniture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:00:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26647906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathrheas/pseuds/cathrheas
Summary: The King of Almyra finds some reprieve in serving his wife in silence.
Relationships: Hilda Valentine Goneril/Claude von Riegan
Kudos: 27





	The Queen's Throne

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to follow me on [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/cathrheas)

Claude was feeling conflicted. He was running late, a hypocritical pet peeve of Hilda’s, but moving too quickly would make him break into a sweat, and she surely wouldn’t appreciate her property becoming dirty without her permission. The wine glass in his hand was filled nearly to the brim, too, and she’d be even angrier if he spilled even a drop of it before it reached her lips.

Careful not to jostle the wine further, Claude looked at his watch. A late-evening meeting had run just a bit too long, but he had no usable excuse to end it. He’d be laughed off the throne if they knew what Hilda was going to do to him that night. Despite it being taboo, Claude was eager to get to their bedroom and get started. He picked up the pace, only slowing once he reached the doors of the master bedroom. Another glance at his watch told him he was three minutes late. He was definitely in big trouble, but...that wasn’t always bad.

The door hadn’t even opened all the way before the fussing began.

“How  _ nice _ of you to show up, Claude.” Hilda was seated, dressed only in her lingerie, in the ornate chair that they’d had made just for nights like these. A few inches down from her crossed legs was a plush carpet, perfect for kneeling.

Claude sighed in relief. He could finally relax.

“My apologies, love. The meeting ran a little long.” He kicked off his shoes, then handed her the glass of wine. She looked at it with a bit of disdain, then looked at him with a similar expression—she was such a great actress. After some moments, she took the glass, and he waited for some gratitude, which she’d give him on occasion. 

“Are you just going to stare?”

_ Ah. Looks like I didn’t earn the honor of a “thank you” tonight. Well, that’s what I get for being late, I guess. _

“Sorry,” he said, his hands already at the buttons of his shirt. As the king, his outfit was often ornate and difficult to get out of, but he always undressed in record time when he was roleplaying with Hilda. She watched him do it, looking only marginally entertained. 

Once he was fully naked, he rolled his shoulders a bit, trying to get them warmed up. Being on all fours for however long Hilda kept him there could get rough on his muscles, and again, he had no excuse for it that wouldn’t embarrass him. After a little stretching, he kneeled on the carpet, looking straight forward at the wall. He kept forgetting to ask Hilda to put something there for him to look at, like a painting or a wall hanging of some sort—but when he was already on his knees, in position, he wasn’t allowed to talk.

“Finally. I’ve been waiting to kick my feet up all day, you know.” Hilda had had a long day of doing very little, he was sure, but that didn’t matter. She lifted her legs, crossed her ankles, and laid them across Claude’s back. 

That part was easy; he’d already stiffened up in all the right places to make sure that he was stable enough to hold her legs. After doing it for so long, he’d grown to like the weight, like a heavy blanket on a cold night. He sighed through his nose, a noise that would have gotten him punished if it wasn’t masked by the sound of a page turning.

Ah, so she was reading. She’d sometimes work on accessories or munch on a pastry he’d brought her, and every now and then, she’d read. At least the periodic page turning gave him something to think about. He wasn’t  _ bored, _ kneeling there like that, but it was hard to be feeling her presence, physically and mentally, but not looking at or interacting with her. Becoming Hilda’s personal footrest was relieving in the way that it allowed him to empty his head, but there was a tension that made his mind hazy.

Claude counted the seconds between page turns, jumping back to attention whenever she shifted her legs. She’d uncross them, lay one foot flat on his back, even teasingly move her toe around his back in lazy patterns. That was harder than the beginning, where he was always prepared. Like anybody would when lounging, Hilda moved in unpredictable ways, catching him off-guard if he wasn’t completely still.

He was doing well, up until the point where Hilda folded her page and set the book down on him. He wasn’t expecting the feeling of cool leather, and his back arched at the sensation, making it slide off and hit the floor.

_ Damn. Not my best performance. _

At the very least, his failure meant she’d be stimulating him a little more. There would surely be a round of teasing before he got any gratification, but he was already hard, something that he knew she’d taken notice of.

“Well! Maybe I’ve gotten too much use out of this thing.” She cruelly jabbed a toe into his side; he clenched his teeth, and nothing more. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her set the wine glass down on the floor; her table probably couldn’t hold it very well. “Looks like it’s got a slant in it.”

Claude swallowed, trying to steady his breathing. If he got too excited, he’d make more mistakes. Messing up was part of the fun, but Hilda could be pretty sadistic, and too many screw-ups meant not getting off. Even when her legs left him, he didn’t untense, waiting for what came next.

Hilda rose from the chair, walking around him, stopping to get a look from different angles. Claude kept staring at the wall, no matter how badly he wanted to look at the plush landscape of her thighs, or the inquisitive expression on her face; she’d notice if he looked elsewhere. 

“The legs look stable,” she said, her toes poking the backs of his thighs. He was ticklish there, and she knew that, the minx—but he stayed still. When she began to rub a finger against his side, he almost caved, but she stopped just as he was about to make a sound. “What a fine seam, here. I’d hate to throw this thing away. Hm...”

Claude knew what was coming next. He braced himself, shutting his eyes and sucking in a breath. He held it for the duration of the pregnant pause that she’d created, and released it when he felt her hands on him. She had her palms flat, steadying herself; one hand at the top of his ass, the other between his shoulder blades. 

Then, she sat on him.

Hilda was a rather short girl, but she wasn’t lacking in weight. He knew her body well, and had every curve mapped out, where the weight had filtered in her soft stomach, her luscious thighs, her heavy breasts, her supple behind. It was gorgeous to look at, but holding her up on his back, even with muscles trained from archery, was a task. It was even harder when he had to contend with the growing arousal in the pit of his belly.

He might have liked this part the best. The waiting, the tension, the pitiful attempts to stay still and silent, paled in comparison to Hilda sitting on him like that, treating him like she’d treat any other piece of furniture around the castle. Claude was struggling to stop his limbs from shaking under the weight and the anticipation. Hilda scooted back a bit, getting comfortable. “Hm. A little hard, maybe, but it’s not too bad.”

Claude held his breath in order to remain inaudible, only releasing it slowly when Hilda moved atop him again. He couldn’t see her, but the change in position was noticeable; she’d switched to straddling him, one leg hanging over each side of him, and one hand on each of his hips. Those hands went further up, almost deliberately tickling his skin, before dipping under and touching his chest. Through a thin layer of hair, she found his nipples, circling her fingers around them until they were hard.

When she finally twisted them between her fingers, Claude broke his composure and whimpered for her—he’d grown used to that sound coming from his mouth, but he hadn’t gotten used to the chill that always tickled his spine when he realized he’d been heard.

“Seems like I’ve got a squeaky piece of furniture on my hands,” Hilda sighed, annoyed and inconvenienced. “Have I used it too much? Hmm. Or, maybe, I haven’t used it enough. I guess I have to work out all the kinks in it...”

_ I have far too many kinks for you to work out on your own, _ Claude wanted to say—it was the perfect opportunity for a little joke. But he was already damaged goods in Hilda’s eyes, and a talking ottoman surely wouldn’t satisfy Hilda’s standards. He bit his tongue, successfully holding back another cry when she pinched his nipples again. 

One hand remained splayed out on his chest, still testing him by periodically dragging a nail over him. The other hand was on to more dangerous places. He hadn’t even realized how much pre-cum had accumulated at his tip until Hilda began to stroke him, using it to lubricate her movements. Again, Claude’s back arched, which was undoubtedly noticeable to Hilda. He sighed, too, his fingers curling into a fist. 

“You’re pretty bad at this, aren’t you, Claude?”

He laughed. Was he really so awful at following orders? As much as he loved playing his part for Hilda, breaking character was still a little cathartic; people like him weren’t good at staying quiet when they weren’t in the face of danger. “Sorry. Am I really supposed to sit here quietly while you get me off, though? That’s a little unrealistic.”

“Would it be easier if I gagged you?”

Just when Claude thought it was impossible to get any more turned on... “I’m not opposed.”

“It wouldn’t do much good, probably. You’d just be whining and moaning through it,” Hilda said. She sounded a little exasperated, but her hand only got faster on Claude’s shaft as she said it. “You’re not even good at being furniture. To think the King of Almyra would fail at such a simple task—I wonder who’s lazier between the two of us.”

This part was fun, too: being teased and taunted for his inevitable failure. To be assigned a worth beneath that of a footstool or an armchair. Claude was confident enough in himself to know that none of what she was saying was true, but the fact that she dared to say it was enough to arouse him. “Sorry, Hilda...t-told you when you asked me to do this that I wouldn’t be much good at it.”

“I guess I should’ve known you wouldn’t be able to control yourself long enough.” Hilda leaned into him; the movement made him realize that he could feel how wet she’d gotten, even through her underwear. She seemed tempted to move her hips against him, but refrained. He’d be asked to pleasure her later, he was sure. For right then, though, he was lucky enough to be touched by her, despite his quick failure. “Even when you were just sitting there, being used as my footstool, you were waiting for this, right?”

“Yes, yes,” he breathed. He still had to keep his posture up, had to hold Hilda’s weight on his back, but his limbs were getting shakier. Hilda made it infinitely more difficult when she leaned over him, breasts pressed against his back through her bra, and began to stroke him with both hands. “Oh,  _ gods, _ Hilda, I’m...I’m gonna fall over. Holy—”

“Just a little more, Claude. You look so hot like this. Wish I could see your face, but—you look so good like this.” The praise was unexpected, but well-received. More than anything, Claude liked turning Hilda on. He loved knowing that, after she’d gotten him off, he’d put his head between her legs and make her scream his name. He didn’t mind degrading himself a bit if that was his reward in the end; no, he loved being beneath a woman like her.

Claude bit his lip until he tasted blood, his legs tensing up beneath him. He almost gave out when the first string of cum hit the carpet beneath him, but he heard Hilda moan a few inches from his ear and forced himself to stay on all fours. With that, it was harder to stay silent, although he didn’t think Hilda cared at that point. Claude said her name from deep in his chest, a verbal release of the tension he’d been building up since he first kneeled in front of her.

Hilda’s hands slowed as his breathing did, still cupping his balls between strokes and ghosting her thumb over his tip. Claude let his head hang, opening eyes just to see the mess he’d made. At the sight of it, his heartbeat began to quicken again, as if his body was asking for another round. He wasn’t quite sure he’d make it through like that, though...

“I’m serious, Hilda. I’m about to fall over, and we’re both gonna land in...that.”

Hilda whined, “But where else am I supposed to sit?”

“Do you think I won’t throw you off? Because I will.” Claude lifted himself up a bit for emphasis, and Hilda hopped off him with startling speed. He was a bit slower to rise, just because his limbs had gotten a little stiff while kneeling there. “Thank you. I’m gonna be walking funny tomorrow...that really isn’t for the faint of heart.”

“It does look a little tiring,” Hilda admitted. She took his hand and led him over to the bed, which he gratefully laid down on; he’d have to clean the carpet later, since Hilda certainly wasn’t going to do it. “For you  _ and _ the carpet. Maybe I shouldn’t make you do it that long? I read for about half an hour.”

Claude hummed. He stayed still that long? Maybe he wasn’t as bad as he thought he was. “No, that’s fine. It’s sort of fun to see how long I can hold out. And, admittedly, it’s...a bit of a turn-on.”

“‘A bit’? I finished you off in  _ minutes. _ You definitely liked that. This is probably the best idea I’ve ever had, actually. I know I was a little mean, but you don’t make a bad footrest.” 

Hilda was carding her fingers through his hair. They’d done this little roleplay quite a few times, and he knew what came next, so he decided to make the first move, lifting the blankets so he could duck beneath them. Hilda’s hand stayed in his hair the whole time, clutching it tighter when he spoke between her legs.

“Footrests won’t eat you out, now, will they?”


End file.
